


And Where Do You Think You're Going?

by al_fletcher, athenril_of_kirkwall (al_fletcher)



Series: Aether Effect (With Smut) [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle, M/M, Prompt Fic, Reunions, Rivka Lavellan, Romance, Skyhold (Dragon Age), Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_fletcher/pseuds/al_fletcher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/al_fletcher/pseuds/athenril_of_kirkwall
Summary: Fenris isn't too happy at Hawke's sudden departure for Skyhold.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Series: Aether Effect (With Smut) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1227941
Kudos: 28
Collections: DA Drunk Writing Circle Prompt Fics





	And Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for m!Hawke/Fenris, "Reunions"

“You and I did fight him, after a-”

Jim rushed to the top of the steps, panting deeply as he reached the platform where the Champion of Kirkwall and the Herald of Andraste were discussing their history with Corypheus. The two of them, and Varric, put their entire conversation on hold as they waited for the scout.

“Jeremias,” Rivka said, asking, “How can we help you?”

A few breaths later, Jim managed, “Inquisitor. There's, ah, an irate elf at the gates.”

“An irate elf…?” Rivka asked, trailing off as Hawke’s palm audibly slapped his forehead.

Hawke muttered, “ _Fenris_.”

Varric started. “I thought you said Broody-”

“We all think a lot of things, Varric,” Hawke grumbled as he stormed up to the walkway the hapless scout had just scrambled across.

“ _I’m_ usually the one making up the tall tales…” Varric said as he and Rivka followed him down to the courtyard, then to the gates where a certain irate elf was waiting with far more patience than the situation would reasonably warrant.

Hawke muttered, “Open the gate.”

“Ah, Hawke, I think that’s an order usually given by the…”

“ _Open the gate,_ ” he hissed, glaring at the soldiers manning the doors, who were turning with confusion to Rivka, who gave a quick, silent, nod.

They swung open, and Fenris took three swift strides into Skyhold, drawing his full elvhen height up to Hawke’s own.

“Hawke.”

“Fenris.”

“Hey there, Br…” Varric said, trailing off when he saw his two companions staring almost right through him.

“Ah, perhaps we should move this reunion indoors,” Rivka said, stepping forth to form an equal third part of the conversational circle.

Fenris broke his gaze away from Hawke to regard Rivka in the corner of his vision, saying to her, “Ah, the Herald of Andraste. A Dalish elf. The Maker certainly works in interesting ways.”

“No such thing. I was just born under a lucky star, Ser Fenris.”

He turned to look her in both her eyes. “ _Ser_ Fenris. I must say that’s a rare one. You know who I am?”

“Only from what Varric writes in _The Tale of the Champion_.”

“Really, now?” Fenris chuckled. “Tell me, how often does he describe that ‘glowing fist thing’?”

“It usually punctuates arguments, which I’m hoping to avoid in this instance. Now then, I like being chilled outside as much as any of you, but…”

“Let’s go inside,” Fenris said. “Maker knows I’ve spent too much of the past week freezing myself coming up here in the first place.”

* * *

In the absence of anywhere else particularly convenient, Rivka, Hawke, Fenris, and Varric had adjourned to the War Room, where the tanned elf was idly playing with a token in the vicinity of Crestwood, and Hawke was standing not a few feet away, waiting for his companion to turn his head up to address the rest of them.

When this didn’t seem to be occurring any time soon, Hawke, drawing in a sharp breath, grasped Fenris’ hand and jerked the figurine from it, planting it firmly back on the capital letter of Crestwood.

“That’s enough,” Hawke said forcefully. “Why are you here, Fenris?”

Fenris stepped back from the table, crossing his arms. “I think everyone else should be asking, ‘Why wasn’t I here with you already’?”

“I…” Hawke gazed at the table, saying, “I didn’t want to drag you into this, Fenris.”

“As I recall, you didn’t give me the choice. I came back to our camp to see you gone with a note.”

“Hawke!” Varric protested.

“Not now, Varric.”

“Oh?” Fenris raised a dark eyebrow, which crept behind the strands of his white fringe. “Then when precisely _is_ a good time to bring this up?”

Hawke drew in a breath, ready to protest, then gave up. “Fine, Fenris. You’re right. I’m sorry. I received Varric’s letter and knew that this was something I had to do myself. Corypheus is _my_ mistake, Fenris.”

“I seem to recall there were _four_ of use there, excluding the hallowed Grey Wardens,” Fenris said bitterly.

“Well, yes,” Hawke said, “but ultimately his entire imprisonment and corruption of the Wardens was enabled by my father. Only _my_ blood—”

“We all know the story,” Fenris interrupted. “I still fail to see why you’re shouldering the blame of the entire world on your shoulders when it seems perfectly clear to me that we _all_ missed Corypheus’ escape.”

Hawke drew in a sharp breath, distractedly walking around the room whilst he concluded the discussion in his head, eventually leaning on the War Table and conceding, “You’re right, of course. But this is dangerous, Fenris.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that, Hawke,” Fenris retorted. “What, fighting Corypheus the first time wasn’t? And if it is as dangerous as you’re claiming, you’re going to need me around. One way or the other, I’m getting you out of this one alive, Hawke.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that. I suppose that _is_ why I keep you around.”

A smirk curled Fenris’ lip. “Besides the sex, I assume.”

“I suppose there’s that too,” Hawke said wryly.

The lingering silence was broken by Rivka. “Right. Well, thanks for resolving that, gentlemen. Would you care to, um, share quarters with Hawke, or…?”

The two of them turned towards her. Hawke asked Rivka, “Well, what do you think?”

“I, um, well, that is to say,” Rivka stammered as she stalled for time, “I don’t want to presume anything of the kind, or, well…”

Fenris laughed wholeheartedly, the first time he’d done so since he reached Skyhold. “Maker help me, you haven’t lost your touch, Hawke. I dare say you’ve flustered her even worse than Aveline. Of course, we’ll share room and board. This certainly is a step up from our camp up in Wildervale, isn’t it, Hawke?”

“The beds, luxurious as they were, were, ah, missing something,” Hawke said, scratching behind his head.

Fenris turned to Rivka, still smiling despite himself. “Subtle as a war hammer. A pleasure meeting you, Herald.”

“Well, depending on what state the Wardens are in, you might not be thanking me later,” Rivka said.

“Trust me,” Hawke said, “You’re hardly the first to say that.”

* * *

“Still thanking the Inquisitor?”, Hawke said, flat on his back as Wardens around them fought their bravest against the army of demons.

“Well, the bed was comfortable enough, can’t fault her for that,” Fenris grumbled, having broken his fall as they tumbled out of the Fade.

They sprung to their feet, ready to defend themselves, but moments later, Rivka dived out of the tear, sealing it with her mark, and the demons were put to flight. There was little to be said or done after that, save for Rivka finally having had enough of the Wardens and entrusting Hawke and Fenris with escorting them out of Orlais.

“Fantastic,” Fenris said, as they led the Wardens out of Adamant, “We’re playing nursemaid now. To Grey Wardens, no less.”

“Don’t feel so down, Fenris,” Hawke replied. “It’ll be good practice for when we settle down with our brood.”

“This is the first I’m hearing of this,” Fenris said.

“Oh, it’ll be grand,” Hawke said. “A boy and a girl, for starters, of course that’s _after_ we kill some Tevinter magister—well, maybe someone besides that Dorian fellow, he seemed polite enough—and move into their villa…”

Fenris grumbled, “I think the trip up to Adamant is only going to feel like weeks instead of months if you make this banal line of thinking an _internal_ monologue.”

“Oh, you’re no fun at all, Fenris.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: https://athenril-of-kirkwall.tumblr.com/post/625207179569496064/


End file.
